But, I'm Barely Old Enough to Be Your Big Sister!

Recently, "getting old" was a topic of conversation with friends. My husband remarked that, in reading his alumni magazine, he found class notes from the year he graduated are no longer toward the back of the publication. They have notably moved toward the middle and he knows they will just keep inching forward as new classes of youngsters graduate. During this same conversation, our friend Lee confessed unhappily that she turns the big 5-0 this year. She's not handling it well despite the fact that she looks irritatingly amazing with the body of 30 year-old and the style of a well-off college student.

As for me, well, aside from a few thousand gray hairs and increasing discomfort on amusement park rides, there is absolutely no indication that I am getting older. Even though everyone around me is aging, I am every bit as amazing as I was 20 years ago. Or at least that's what I thought until yesterday, when I had to speak with a couple of teenagers with whom I was not previously acquainted.

There's nothing like talking with teens to make you feel old. It's not because I couldn't relate to what they were saying. It's not the fact that we don't share the same wrinkle-free skin and strong, young bodies. It's because they clearly didn't think I was awesome. Hip. Cool. All that and a bag of chips.

This is upsetting to me. See, I only recently graduated from college. In my mind, anyway. And even though I may no longer be a cute and utterly fascinating co-ed, I certainly fall into the young wife/mom, "I wanna be her / marry someone like her someday" category. Right?

I was not getting that vibe from the young-uns.

I was witty and charming. I referenced Facebook. I mentioned I have a blog. In return I got obligatory chuckles which translated into "This lady is so lame, making a pathetic attempt to connect with us."

I believe I was spoiled by previous teenagers in my life. The Scott boys, the Powell girls, Kevin and Laura Jean. They all treated me like the uniquely terrific young woman I am. Or was. Although, now that I think about it, I was paying them (to watch my children). I also know their parents and could theoretically have told on them if they weren't nice to me. See, there's further evidence of how not-old I am. "Telling" on someone is something children do. I'm even younger than I thought!

I shudder when I think about having almost invested several years in attaining my PhD so that I could teach these haughty and all-knowing teens and 20-somethings. I can't imagine spending my days looking into their disgust-filled or completely vacant eyes as I attempted to impart my genuius with my usual humor and grace.

The only comfort I can find in this remarkably disturbing teen interaction is that my son isn't there yet. He's almost completed his first year as a teenager and miraculously still loves me. Just a few weeks ago he remarked how "normal" or "good" our family is (at which I nearly choked on my chewing gum). He explained that all of his friends complain about their families and can't stand their parents, but that he actually enjoys spending time with his. He likes me, he really likes me!

I can bear the disdain of surly youth as long as my son remains my biggest fan. Wonder how long that will last...